


On Wing

by myriddin



Series: On Wing [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Alternate Universe - Dragons, F/M, Mating Flight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6596149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As her queen prepares to rise, Sansa can only hope that what duty demands and what the heart desires can this time overlap.</p><p>Mentioned past Willas/Sansa and Oberyn/Sansa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Wing

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so for anyone who has never read any of the Pern series, there’s a quick run-down below so you don’t have to go look things up.
> 
> Pern is a medieval-esque, feudalist society that centers around three things: the Crafthalls (specialized professions), the Holds (residences and social center of most of the population), and the Weyrs (I’ll explain in a bit). The major Holds are quasi-urban centers ruled by Lord Holders, overlooking large rural territories and minor vassal Holds. The Holds owe tithes to the Weyrs in exchange for protection against a lethal biological phenomenon known as Thread (not important to this fic). 
> 
> The Weyrs are the mountainside homes of the dragonriders. Dragons come in five colors, which denote gender, size, and rank. In order of increasing size and rarity: greens, blues, browns, bronzes, and golds. Both greens and golds are female, but only the rarer golds are fertile, thus their secondary name as “queens” as they are literally on top of the dragon and Weyr hierarchy. Bronzes are the only males large and strong enough to keep up with queens during mating flights, thus why they dominate over other males. The bronze riders serve as Wingleaders, the head of fighting wings, and sometimes as Wingseconds (along with brown riders). 
> 
> Dragons form an incredibly strong empathetic and telepathic bond with their rider (Impression) from their Hatching, to the point that if one dies, the other is likely to follow out of sheer heartbreak. The strength of this bond carries over to mating flights, the emotions of the mating dragons are so strong that sex between the riders is near-compulsory.  
> However, the rider’s feelings and preference can affect the female dragon’s choice. The senior-most queen rider in the Weyr is known as a Weyrwoman. She is the utmost social and political authority in the Weyr along with her Weyrleader, the rider of the bronze who caught her queen in the last mating flight. 
> 
> *Traditionally, when a male rider Impresses, they shorten their name and contract the first syllable. In rare cases, their name is already so short (like Jon) they don't use the honorific.

With a soft sigh, Sansa, Junior Weyrwoman, lifted her hair from her neck, tilting her head toward the window in hopes of catching a stray breeze from the Bowl. Across from her on the other side of the table, Mordane, the Weyr’s Headwoman, gave her a pointed look. “Feeling restless, dear?”

Sansa nodded sheepishly, removing the leather throng she kept around her wrist to braid her hair into a quick plait. “Yes. I’m sorry, Mordane, but I don’t think I’ll be much use today.”

Mordane tutted softly, rolling up the hides between them that held the tithe numbers they had been reviewing. Normally such a thing would fall under the Weyrwoman’s purview, but she was by necessity absent from the Weyr. Mordane had tried to distract her best to distract the restless queenrider, but her efforts had since proven to be fruitless. “It’s no trouble. Is there anything I can ask to be brought for you?”

Sansa opened her mouth to reply, only to be distracted by a sudden mental stirring in her mind. She cocked her head to the side, isolating the driving urgency she was looking for from the irritable grumblings of hunger. Her queen had awoken.

“Ladith’s ready to rise,” she hastily informed the Headwoman, before taking off in a jog for the Feeding Grounds.

Sansa, eldest daughter of the Lord and Lady Holder of Ruatha, had been Searched just before her eighteenth nameday. Impressing Ladith had saved her from a match with Joffrey of Crom, who had proved himself more vicious than any of the other Blood had been aware of.

An overwhelming sense of feeling restless and hot in her own skin drew Sansa away from her reflections, setting her sights instead on mentally cajoling her tetchy lifemate. It was much easier to do so now than in the past, as the young gold was quickly approaching her third flight. As she arrived breathless and panting at the feeding grounds, she ran an appraising eye over the gathering bronzeriders.

Ladith would need a particularly strong male to sire her next clutch: the smaller Weyrs always benefited from new blood, and Telgar especially would be in need of a younger queen within the next few Turns. W’las, her partner during her second flight, had been a considerate lover, but his Garth hadn’t matched Ob’ryn and Viperth of Igen, visiting Fort by chance when Ladith went into her first heat. But even Ob’ryn’s passion and Viperth’s strength hadn’t produced a queen’s egg.

W’las was always an option, but there were others. There was Barath, by far the largest bronze in the Weyr, whose rider St’nis was a grim, harsh man, but one who always adhered to his duty. _More the sort to be in the running for next Weyrleader_ , she concluded. H’rold was too arrogant for his own good, and S’dor’s temper frightened her.

G’dry was the decent sort, and attractive to boot, but his Bulloth was young yet, and Arya would have her head if she dared. Arya had always been bold, she hadn’t been surprised that her intrepid little sister had staked a claim even though she and her green were still in the weyrling barracks.

There was another name her heart whispered over the rationale of her mind, the lover she had chosen for herself in those few sevendays between arriving at the Weyr and Impressing. The mate her heart wanted, but her body was denied. Back then, the bronze hadn’t had the maturity, the rider not the rank, but four Turns later now, there was always room for change.

_Warm fingers ghosted over her skin, sending a wonderful shiver down her spine as his touch ignited desires in his body they had only just satisfied. He raised his head to smile down at her, brushing the sweaty hair away from her face. Their mouths met and clung, calloused hands smoothing over her shape and curves._

_She moaned into her lover’s mouth as their hips aligned and she felt the awakening press of him, stirring a heat threatening to overwhelm her. They broke apart breathlessly and she found herself beset by stormy eyes, gone serious, gazing down at her determinedly. “You’ll Impress, Sansa. I’m sure of it. The day will come when Ghoseth is strong enough to be worthy. I’ll make sure of it!”_

_The vow was cemented as lips and bodies came together again, losing themselves in the sheltered dark of the weyr._  
  
As Ladith lunged for the first herdbeast, Sansa kept a firm hand, making certain the proddy queen blooded rather than fed. Even feeling feverish and ill-tempered, she was aware of the bronze riders milling about, edging closer until they were in a circle of fourteen, their draconic partners reflecting their pose around the queen. 

Ladith’s color was the dark, rich pallor of a female deep in heat, the light summer sunlight gleaming off the scales on her back as she stretched, arching her neck and back in sensual display that held the rapt attention of the nearby males. Her eyes were whirling pools of amber, red and garnet, instantaneously alluring, mystifying and unnerving as her great body swayed from side-by-side in a serpentine motion. The mental connection between dragon and rider was flooded with primal lust, heat and want, the urge to fly, high and far and fast. 

Craning her neck, the young queen released a shrill screech, defiant, challenging, to the males watching her with lustful anticipation. Spending her wings, their span impressive as only befitting a queen, the mother and mistress of her kind, she used the leverage of her clawed feet to spring into the air. She was beautiful, graceful, and majestic as she rose up toward the heavens, a massive sea of bronze racing after her with only a moment’s hesitation.

Though grounded, Sansa was one with Ladith as she executed effortless tumbles and somersaults, tantalizing the males behind as she soared higher and higher. Sansa’s body trembled violently from the intensity of emotion flooding her mind, her tunic drenched with sweat as she flooded with heat, her breath reduced to ragged pants.

The chase went on and on, as Ladith delighted in the attention and anticipation coming from her males, ducking and weaving among the clouds as one by one the unsuccessful dropped away. Only one could be triumphant, prove himself to be worthy of her. The young queen crowed her challenge to the skies, reveling in her preeminence.

Ladith caught barely a glimpse of gleaming bronze out of the corner of her eye, appearing from behind a cloud formation, before a large male suddenly veered into her visceral, powerful limbs enlacing with her own as the proud young gold found herself well and truly caught.

 _He’s a clever one_ , Ladith thought, impressed. And strong as well as he caught the draft and lifted them to catch a smooth zephyr, continuing to wrap himself around her. 

For Sansa, a part of herself was finally grounded back into her body when she found herself secured by a pair of strong arms. She gasped as another wave of intense emotion washed over her, the sound cutting off into a moan as she clutched at the man behind her and found hot, naked skin. She knew him- his voice, his arms, his body; she breathed his name and he came alive at her recognition, spinning her around to slant his mouth over hers in a fierce kiss.

Above, bronze and gold intertwined and surrendered to instinct; below, Sansa lost herself in lustful lips and hands, knowing somehow she was safe here, and able to let herself go. 

xx

She would remember little afterward, among the whirlwind of passion and desperation, but she would recall what it was to be lost in something so surreal and exhilarating, as they entwined and moved in an archaic rhythm older than any could ever know. Every breath and every touch spread like fire in their veins, culminating in a spiral of dazed pleasure and confusion, until they finally collapsed together in an entanglement of languid limbs and spent passions, slick with sweat and panting for breath.

Sansa slowly came back to more autonomous awareness, finding herself sprawled on her belly against an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, a heavy male weight plastered across her back momentarily stealing her breath before he shifted to her side. Warm lips brushed against the back of her neck and she sighed softly, rolling over to face him.

Jon met her gaze with a sheepish smile, tentatively reaching out to touch his fingers to her cheek, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. Sansa leaned into his touch, the feelings of comfort and security his presence had earlier stirred in her- when some part of her had recognized him, reassuring her even in the overwhelming passion of the mating- returned full-force.

Their union, while satisfying, had been far from gentle, something she took stock of as she carefully stretched and noted the aches in various places. She caught Jon’s regretful regard of the bruises on her hips and seeing him readying to open his mouth, likely to apologize, and she pointedly cut her eyes to the deep scratches left by her nails furrowed into his forearms. He caught her glance, his mouth cocking into another rueful smile as he softly quipped, “Much more fun to acquire than Threadscore.”

Unable to help herself, Sansa burst into a fit of giggles and Jon grinned, looking pleased with himself. The beaming grin brought a light to his brooding face and she leaned forward to press her lips to his, with an urge to capture some of that joy for her own.

And joyful it was, indeed.

xx

_Months later…_

The tension radiating off his weyrmate was nearly a palpable thing, evidenced in the restless shuffling Sansa was undergoing beside him. Jon was tense himself. Ladith was the first queen Ghoseth had ever flown, an honor Jon wasn't sure they would have achieved if St'nis hadn't declared them ready for Wingleader status just before the flight, and now the rider was feeling the same nerves of impending fatherhood as the dragon. He reached out to grasp Sansa’s hand, and she nervously smiled at him. He raised their entwined hands and pressed a soft kiss to her palm, feeling her relax ever so slightly at his side.

They turned back to the Grounds as the eggs began to violently shake. Jon winced with the forceful grip Sansa had on his hand, excitement thrumming through him as light tremors continued beneath his feet. The first egg fell over and began to crack. A small green dragonet emerged from the shell, beginning to piteously keen as she stumbled across the sands.

A tall, lanky young man with sun-bleached hair stepped forward, righting the green as she fell. He gently set her straight and he looked down at her with a small smile, their eyes meeting for the first time. The sudden awe and elation in the young man’s expression was wonderfully familiar, and Jon knew the first Impression had been made.

As if the now cheering crowd was a signal, several hatchlings began to emerge from their eggs.

Jon swelled with emotion and he let out a whoop of joy, hugging Sansa tightly to him. She laughed as he lifted her off her feet and twirled her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, filling him with the warmth of her smile as she lowered her lips to his.

While he had vestiges of the same emotions, a rumble of pure male satisfaction flooded his mind. Jon inwardly chuckled. _Feeling proud of yourself, are you?_ He remarked to his lifemate.

Another echo of that smugness, and Ghoseth replied. _Perhaps._

_You did well, my friend._

_We did. Together._

_Always._


End file.
